


Fall from Grace

by zinnia_rose



Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Bones RPF
Genre: F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-04
Updated: 2011-12-04
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:01:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zinnia_rose/pseuds/zinnia_rose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>David corners Emily outside her trailer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall from Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Bad](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/5681) by sweetjamielee. 



A/N: This probably toes the line between M and E, but I've called it E just to be safe. Thanks to shiransita on LJ for the prompt, and also to sweetjamielee (who knows why ♥).

This is a follow-up to sweetjamielee's [Bad](http://sweetjamielee.livejournal.com/50885.html), which you should read for two reasons. One, because it's freaking amazing, and two, because otherwise this story won't make very much sense.

I'm not in any way affiliated with anyone mentioned in this story, nor am I making money from it.

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“David? _David!_ ”

His head jerks around with a start and he arranges his face in what he hopes is a winning smile. “Sorry Em, what were you saying?”

“I _said_ , Hart and Stephen want to know if you’re happy with the last take.” She’s giving him that look she saves just for him, the one she gets when she’s torn between amused and irritated.

“Oh, uh, yeah. It was good.” She nods and turns to leave, and as he finally escapes the stuffy interview room and steps into the cool night air he makes a mental note to ask someone what, exactly, he had said in response to the interviewer’s last question.

Hopefully it hadn’t involved any comments about his ridiculously attractive costar’s outfit and what it's been doing to him, although that is certainly the only thing he's been thinking about. He usually enjoys doing the end-of-season interviews, but this one has been a disaster. He had clearly either greatly pleased or greatly angered some force of the universe, because Emily's been wearing the world’s tightest purple sweater with a v-neck so low he thought it might actually be illegal. And her skirt, though it's modest and pretty instead of the tiny, alluring scrap she’d worn at the party last week, is still enough to make his mouth go dry.

As he watched her lips move as she answered the interviewer’s questions, he couldn’t help remembering the way those lips had brushed his ear as she rubbed herself on him, and how under the dim light of the club she had turned from sweet, innocent Emily into a shameless seductress. It was a side of her he's certainly contemplated (because really, he’d have be dead not to), but never in his wildest fantasies did he think he would ever actually get to see it.

And speaking of fantasies, his have become considerably more…vivid since their encounter. God, he really needs to stop thinking about her like that. It’s so many kinds of wrong, but he just can’t help himself. And it isn’t like she hasn’t brought it on herself, with her own insanely inappropriate behavior.

But still, it’s better that he try to put vixen-Emily out of his mind. He takes another deep breath and thinks about taxes and all the clothes he needs to fold, and he is just starting to feel a little calmer when he sees a shadow out of the corner of his eye. Why does she have to be walking back to her trailer at the _exact same time_ he’s trying not to think about her? The breeze has ruffled her hair just like he would if he ran his fingers—no. He is _not_ going to go there.

He should turn around. He should walk away and continue their façade, should keep playing their little game of avoiding and teasing and pretending. But just then she turns her head slightly, and the moonlight catches her hair like the strobe lights from the party, and before he can stop himself he is right behind her. She whirls around as his footsteps grow nearer.

“David! You scared me half to death!”

He can’t remember how they got there; all he knows is that the next minute he has her backed up against the wall of her trailer.

“What the hell are you doing? I –”

He wonders if it’s wrong to think she’s unbearably hot when she gets flustered. If it is, he is so going to hell. He cuts her off before she finishes, his voice a harsh whisper.

“Do you know what you’ve been doing to me lately, Emily? Every time I look at you I feel your ass grinding up against me. I can hear your voice in my ear and smell your hair and Jesus Christ, _it makes me crazy_.” The blush that creeps up her neck is visible even in the dark as he stops abruptly and takes a deep breath. Why does she have to be so adorable when she blushes?

“Yeah, well, you didn’t seem to mind at the time.”

She won’t quite meet his eyes, but her voice, somewhere between a warning and an invitation, makes him instantly half-hard. He swallows with difficulty and continues as if he hasn’t heard her, pinning her in place with his palms flat against the cold metal of the trailer.

“Are you wearing this sweater for me too, like you wore that skirt? Because you knew I’d like it? Maybe because you’re teasing me, trying to make me _let go_ again?” He’s close enough now that their bodies are touching, and the angle affords him a tantalizing view down her top.

“That’s awfully presumptuous, don’t you think?” David can tell she’s trying to keep her voice steady, but he doesn’t miss the way it shakes slightly, the way her breath comes faster as he gets closer.

“Look at me, Emily.” His voice is barely audible, but her eyes immediately snap up to meet his. His cock twitches at the arousal he sees in her dilated pupils, and he moves in a little closer.

“I think it’s the truth. Did it make you feel good, knowing you could make me come in my pants?” Her flush deepens and she looks away again, but he keeps going. “Did it make you feel powerful, knowing you can make me lose control? Well, guess what. You’re not the only one who’s dangerous.”

By now he’s pressed solidly against her body, and he bites back a groan at the feel of her nipples pressing insistently against his chest. Her eyes fall shut as he slides both hands under her sweater and slowly strokes up her stomach to trace her ribs. When his thumbs brush against the bottom of her bra she lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a whimper of pleasure, and David is positive it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever heard. So when he feels her hands close around his forearms he is caught completely off guard.

“We — oh god, you —” She sucks in a shuddering breath and grips his arms more tightly, as though she’s trying to ground herself. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“You know if you say the word I’ll stop,” he whispers, and means it with all his heart. He would sooner cut off his arm than hurt her.

But he knows that if they stop, even for the thirty seconds it would take to move inside, this (whatever it was) will no longer be spontaneous or impulsive. It will cross the line into something planned, something deliberate…something they won’t be able to ignore so easily in the harsh light of day.

 _Don’t think so much, Emily,_ he silently pleads. _Just feel_.

The pause that follows seemed like an eternity as he watches her conscience war with her obvious arousal. He lets out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding when she relaxes against him again and breathes, “Don’t stop.”

Emboldened, he slides his hands up her sweater again, this time cupping her breasts fully. Her head falls back against the trailer and the resulting thud makes him look up in alarm, but she doesn’t even seem to have noticed. He’s sure he could stare at her forever, with cheeks flushed and eyes shut and lips parted, and never get tired of the sight.

David keeps his touches soft at first, drinking in her soft gasps and little whimpers, but he can tell she’s holding back. He wants to see her lose control. He needs to make her crazy, just like she did to him. So he works his hands under her bra, stifling a groan into her hair as he wonders how her skin can be so impossibly, wonderfully soft. He tries desperately not to blink, terrified of missing a single detail of the soft flush that spreads over her chest or the way her nipples pearl under his thumbs as she arches into his palms.

This isn’t what she deserves, these stolen gropes against a cold metal wall. Even as a twisted part of him delights in this sick sort of revenge for her antics at the party, he still wishes he could carefully undress her and take his time learning every inch of her body before making her scream for hours.

But he knows — they both know, really — that it can never be, so instead he settles for leaning down to trail hot kisses along her collarbone.

“More.” Her moan sounds nothing like the poised, articulate Emily he knows. This Emily is wanton and desperate, and he can feel her heat branding him with every thrust of her hips against his thigh. David can’t help but wonder what sounds she’ll make as he slides his fingers inside her. What will her eyes look like as she comes? He reluctantly removes his lips from her skin and moves up to her ear.

“Are you wet for me?” His voice is a low rasp, teetering on the very edge of control as he moves in so close that his lips brush against her ear.

She seems not to hear him for a moment, lost in a haze of desire. When her glazed eyes finally focus on him he barely manages not to groan out loud, eyes glued on her lips as she slowly traces them with her tongue.

“Why don’t you find out?” she murmurs, so softly that he’s half-sure he had imagined it. Jesus. He reaches down to fumble unsuccessfully with her skirt. Why can’t it have a button at the front like normal clothes?

He feels like an idiot when impatient hands shove him out of the way as she seizes the hem and yanks it unceremoniously above her hips. It is only Emily who can make him lose his head like this, only Emily who can cloud his brain so much that he forgets the easiest way to get into a girl’s pants.

But then, maybe that is only fair. This is not, and never has been, just about getting into her pants.

His thumbs trace the elastic of her panties as he wonders how she makes pale blue cotton look sexier than the laciest thong. How many times has he imagined this? It is surreal to think it’s actually happening, and he has a sudden urge to pinch himself to make sure he isn’t dreaming. But then she leans down to rasp in his ear and if he is dreaming, he doesn’t want to wake up.

“I swear to god, David, if you don’t touch me right this second I’m going to kill you.” Her voice is low and husky, and he can’t stop himself any longer. He slowly runs one finger along her slick curls, barely brushing the swollen lips as he explores.

“Fuck, you are so wet,” he hisses in her ear as his fingers slide easily between her legs, and her only response is a low moan. He rubs soft circles against her, memorizing the way her breath hitches when he touches her right there and how her fingers tighten on his shirt when he strokes her just like that.

A string of half-coherent pleas spills out of her mouth and he attempts to regain some semblance of control over himself. “Tell me what you need, Emily. Do you want me here—” He brushes lightly against her clit and her hips jerk into his hand. “—or here?” He circles her opening, marveling at the pool of wetness he finds there.

“Ah! David…please…”

“Tell me how to make you feel good,” he whispers.

“Inside,” she gasps, and he slides two fingers into her warmth. She cries out sharply as a shudder runs through her entire body and for a moment he is afraid he’s hurt her, but then she grinds against his hand in a way that makes it very clear what she wants next.

He slowly begins to stroke in and out, mesmerized by the way her walls are already starting to flutter around him. She feels incredible, like slick, hot velvet, and he can’t help imagining what she would feel like around his erection, which is now straining against his pants almost to the point of pain.

God, she’s so deliciously responsive to his every touch, and he wonders how long it had been since someone has done this for her. The question is on the tip of his tongue when it occurs to him with a sudden pang that maybe he doesn’t want to know. It’s easier this way…not quite as forbidden and bad and _so, so wrong._

But even as his conscience twinges he’s bending down to growl hotly in her ear again. “You like everyone to think you’re such a good girl, don’t you? Emily Deschanel certainly wouldn’t seduce her co-star in the middle of a very public dance floor. And she would never, ever dream of letting him fuck her up against a wall.”

She shivers violently against him and whimpers, but he can’t seem to stop the flood of words spilling out of his mouth. “Lucky for you you’re a damned good actress; good enough to fool the rest of the world. But I know the truth. I know that deep down you’re very, very bad, and this turns you on. I can feel how hot and wet and needy you are for me.”

She cries out as he finds a particularly sensitive spot, and he leans in to kiss her neck as her hips start to rock in time with the movement of his fingers.

“ _Fuck_ , just like that,” she whimpers, and he feels a rush of pride at being the one to make her swear. It’s going to be him who makes her fall apart. It’s going to be his name she’ll scream. It’s all for him.

Her hands fly to his back to clutch his shirt, the slight sting of her nails against his skin sending little pinpricks of sensation through him.

“So close,” she breathes, and a jolt of electricity shoots straight to his groin. He pins her more securely against the wall as her knees begin to buckle and brings his thumb up to circle her swollen clit.

“David, please, faster,” she gasps, and he can’t help but obey. She looks like his hottest wet dream, head thrown back and lower lip drawn between her teeth as she practically vibrates in his arms, and he can’t wait to watch her come.

He swirls his tongue around her pulse point, and a heady surge of power courses through him as a trail of goosebumps spreads from where his lips had pressed against her skin. “Let it go, Emily.”

Her moans are escalating now; he thinks he can hear his name among her shaky pleas, and in a fit of Emily-induced recklessness he leans down to capture her lips so nobody will hear.

He means to kiss her slowly and gently, he really does, but as soon as his lips brush hers she sweeps her tongue across his bottom lip and slips it into his mouth, and he’s gone. It’s his turn to moan as he kisses her back hungrily.

It doesn’t take much longer before she shatters, her whole body stiffening as he swallows her scream. For the briefest instant he’s a little disappointed that he can’t see her face as she shudders around him, but the taste of her, an intoxicating combination of raw lust and the softest femininity, consumes his senses in a dizzy rush and then there’s no room in his mind for anything else.

Slowly, her cries fade to whimpers and she unwinds her death grip on his shirt as she slumps back against the wall. David eases her sweater back into place so she won’t get cold before wrapping his arm around her waist. He can’t help pulling her close against his chest, dropping his cheek to rest on the top of her head as her breathing slows. An unexpected lump rises in his throat at how perfectly she fits in his arms, gorgeous and sated and still trembling with pleasure.

 _Mine_. The word echoes in his head with a vehemence that almost scares him. Stop it, he reminds himself. This is not supposed to be about feelings or romance or stupid impossible fairy-tale endings. It’s to prove a point, that’s all.

It _is_.

Time seems to move oddly as he holds her. He isn’t sure how long they stand there before she lazily tilts her head back to look at him, and his breath catches at her pink cheeks and glazed eyes. A slow smile spreads across her face and David can’t help smirking as he echoes her words from the dance floor.

“Did I do that?” He means to copy the innocent tone she had used at the party, but his body betrays him and the words come out in a husky groan.

“God…” she breathes in response, and he feels a surge of pride at rendering her unable to produce a complete sentence.

“Aw, for you, Em, just David is fine,” he teases, but his heart’s not really in it. She rolls her eyes and weakly shoves his chest.

He wants to kiss her again so badly it hurts, but he knows that if he does he might not be able to stop. This time there would be no excuses; they couldn’t pretend it had been purely out of necessity to dampen her cry. If he kissed her again, it wouldn’t be for payback or whatever pathetic excuse they invent…this time it would just be Emily and David and it would be _real_.

If he kisses her again, he doesn’t think he could walk away afterwards.

So instead he settles for pulling her back into a hug, closing his eyes as he prays to whoever is listening to let this moment last just a little longer before they have to face the real world again.

He feels the slight shift in her posture the moment before she pulls away again and he braces himself for her reaction. He isn’t sure what he expects to see on her face. Anger, probably, or maybe sadness, but instead she just looks…tired. Drained, even, as if all the fight has been sucked out of her.

Something clenches in his chest as he takes in her oddly blank expression. He’s always been able to tell what she’s thinking and feeling. She is an open book to him; it’s one of the reasons they work so well together. But now he doesn’t have a clue what’s going on inside her head.

 _It wasn’t supposed to happen this way_ , he thinks desperately. He was supposed to stroll off with a smart-ass comment; tomorrow they were supposed to go right back to teasing and bothering and flirting. But the look on her face tells him that maybe she can’t do that. And a voice in the back of his head, the one that always sounds a little like Emily, whispers that maybe he can’t either.

Part of him wishes she would yell, or scream or throw a punch or _anything_. Anything would be better than the way she just stands there. He reaches out to touch her shoulder or brush away the little curl that’s fallen into her face, suddenly needing to know that she is still real and this hasn’t been some kind of screwed up dream or fantasy or hallucination, and his stomach turns to ice when she flinches away from his touch. Her eyes look oddly bright in the moonlight and for one paralyzing second he thinks she’s going to cry, but her voice is steady when she murmurs, “Don’t.”

It’s physically painful for him to drop his arm and step back, but he does it for her anyway. His mouth opens to tell her…what, exactly?...but there is nothing he can say that she doesn’t already know. He can see the realization of what they’ve done begin to hit her, and he’s suddenly struck by how small and alone she looks, silhouetted against the trailer.

What is _wrong_ with them? Why can’t they just _stop_? For the millionth time he wants to scream at the universe and ask why it has to be so unfair, why he can’t just change what he feels. Why isn’t this within his control?

This time it’s Emily who reaches out to trail her fingers along his shoulder, and somehow it feels like the most private, intimate touch that’s happened all night. She gives him a soft smile and though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, he understands it to mean that she won’t hate him in the morning, that she can’t resist this any more than he can. Then she turns, walks into her trailer, and closes the door softly behind her.

And while he hates that she feels so guilty (because while he’s used to being the bad one, she is not and he knows her well enough to imagine how she’s feeling), and even hates himself for being partly responsible, there is no doubt in his mind — his _heart_ — that if someone turned back the clock and they were standing outside her trailer once more…he’d do it all over again.

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Thank you for reading! Reviews make me happy. :D


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